


Skin Deep

by slash4femme



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-03
Updated: 2010-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slash4femme/pseuds/slash4femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy's not sure why he finds Spock so attractive</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin Deep

**Author's Note:**

> beta read by [](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/profile)[**cardiac_logic**](http://cardiac-logic.livejournal.com/) who is both wonderful and awesome. written for Ship Wars over at [](http://st-respect.livejournal.com/profile)[**st_respect**](http://st-respect.livejournal.com/)

Spock is irritating and infuriating and everything McCoy just doesn’t get. McCoy doesn’t know what Spock wants, doesn’t know what Spock wants from him, or Jim, or the rest of the crew. He knows he should be treating Spock as special, giving him leeway considering what Spock’s been through, considering the loss of his mother and his world. The specialist on Earth had said Spock was fit for duty, but McCoy’s pretty sure Spock’s suffering from some sort of trauma, not that Spock acts like it most days. Most days Spock just acts insufferable.

Which doesn’t explain why it turns McCoy on so much, why he thinks about Spock like this, feels hot when he’s around the other man, his hands itching to reach out and touch, reach out and grab the other man and . . .

It doesn’t make sense.

McCoy doesn’t think about men that way; he’s never thought about men that way and most of the time he doesn’t masturbate either. Besides, if he was going to think of another man like that it should be his insanely good-looking sex God of a best friend/roommate/ these days Captain.

It should not be Spock. That was definitely listed under Bad Things That Should Never Happen.

Yet here he is, lying on his back on his bed, his uniform on the floor as he thinks of Spock. He spreads his legs a little further apart, touching himself lazily, just running his hands along the inside of his thighs.

It isn’t that Spock isn’t smart or a capable first officer, because he is both; he just seems to genuinely dislike everyone on the entire ship except for Uhura. And oh isn’t that an interesting thought, Spock and Uhura; God only knows what is going on there, not much if you listened to the ship gossip, but McCoy doesn’t want to think about Spock and Uhura right now. He only wants to think about Spock, think about the way Spock stands: straight and tall, shoulders squared off so precisely, hands held behind his back or at his sides, head cocked slightly to the side if he’s listening to someone talk.

McCoy’s hand slides between his legs, rubs at his balls.

He wonders is Spock’s nipples are sensitive, if Spock likes to have them played with, if he’s ever tried that.  
He presses hard against his own right nipple, feels the way the pleasure bleeds into pain before he moves his hand, slides it back down his body and he’s almost hard now, and he squeezes his cock a couples times to bring himself to full hardness.

Spock has dark hair across his chest; McCoy wonders now what it would feel like to run his fingers through it,, to kiss Spock’s chest and feel it against his lips and face, to lick his way down the trail of hair to Spock’s navel and then lower.

McCoy turns over and gets onto his hands and knees; he lowers his hips and rubs his cock against the pillow below him, wondering if Spock makes noise during sex. Does he moan like everyone else? Is he silent? Would it even be possible to coax little hungry noises from him? McCoy can imagine it, can imagine Spock spread out on a bed, thighs slightly apart, a dark green flush crawling up his neck, across his face, his nipples hard and swollen from McCoy sucking on them. It would be better if Spock was quiet, so tightly controlled, if he made McCoy work to pull those little, needy noises from him, made him fight for every single one of them.

McCoy’s never wanted to touch a man like that before, even now he grinds his teeth and screws his eyes shut, _just say it,_ he thinks at himself in his own mind, _just admit you want to touch his damn cock, take him in your mouth, have him . . .Oh God_ -

It’s not that wanting a man is wrong, it’s just . . . unexpected, and wanting Spock - uptight, high ranking, fellow crew mate, now member of an endangered species, Spock - is wrong, very, very wrong, and so deliciously mind-blowingly _good_.

McCoy’s hips jerk forward where he’s rubbing himself against the pillow. His hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat and he props himself up on one elbow, reaching his other hand around to rub between his own ass cheeks, not penetrating, just touching himself there. It feels so good and he wonders what Spock would look like fingering himself open for McCoy. One of these days he’s going to have the foresight to get his vibrator out before he does this, and that thought brings up images of Spock kneeling between McCoy’s spread legs, easing the vibrator into the other man’s body, fucking him with it. McCoy’s panting open-mouthed now, and it shouldn’t turn him on like this, Spock should not turn him on like this, it is _wrong_. Plus it’s made for some pretty awkward senior staff meetings, and one of these days Jim is going to catch on to the fact that McCoy can’t seem to stop staring at Spock’s lips, or God forbid Spock might catch on to him. He doesn’t even want to think about that.

In his mind Spock is kneeling behind him, sliding into him, holding both of the bigger man’s wrists against the bed with that inhuman strength of his. Spock would fuck hard and precisely, and McCoy would swear into the pillows, thrust back against him over and over again. Spock would fuck him until there were tears in the other man’s eyes and he was begging for it . . .

McCoy comes hard, collapsing down onto the bed, shaking and feeling like he’s just done a mad dash across the ship and back. McCoy grimaces, wiping himself off with the sheet, before getting up and heading for the bathroom.

It’s a fantasy of course. Spock’s not there, Spock doesn’t even know, and if McCoy’s really, really lucky, he never will.


End file.
